


dominella

by patrexes



Series: Kinktober 2019 [18]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canon Consensual Incestuous Relationship, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emetophilia, F/M, Finger Sucking, Hebephilia, Kinktober 2019, Lingua Latīna | Latin, Menstrual Sex, Nipple Torture, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-10-25 17:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20728154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrexes/pseuds/patrexes
Summary: Modestyseems a word ill-applied.





	dominella

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: blood. hover for translations (with creator styles on).

Livia is in her eleventh summer when her breasts first begin to bud, sore and painful to the touch, and she climbs into Gaius’ lap in naught but her smallclothes seeking out comfort. The linen shorts she wears are meant to maintain her modesty beneath the skirts she still favors as she plays—_trains_, really, despite her age, learning how to shoot a gun alongside newly conscripted Eorzeans beneath her father's command. But in underthings and nothing else, soaked with sweat as she lifts her father’s hands and places them on her growing breasts, pressing his fingertips into the soreness and moaning for the feeling of it, _modesty_ seems a word ill-applied even chaste as the scene is.

Livia is in her thirteenth summer when those underthings are soaked through with blood when she climbs into her father’s lap.

“Tata,” the girl says desperate, as if she has not already caught his attention between her teeth. Not her usual _domine mī_, seeming if one had not known Marcus and Claudia—Livia’s late _dominus pater_ and _domina mater_—to be ever so proper, her claim of ownership playing hide-and-seek behind the supposed innocence of the genitive. “Tata, dolet.” She is, of course, playing it up for his benefit, little slip of a nymphette ever vying for her father's attentions. But he does not doubt that she speaks true—she shifts sticky-wet and restless in his lap, unable to find a comfortable perch.

He catches her flighty wrist; brings it up to his mouth and kisses the back of her hand, then the line of her thumb, and nips playful at the flesh. Livia gasps, high and wanting, and into her open palm Gaius asks, eyes flicking up to meet hers, “Quid vīs, fīliola?”

“Manūs tuī,” she breathes. “Manūs tuī super mē.”

Gaius obliges his girl—brings his hands down to hold her slender hips, bone hard under his touch and still only a thin layer of body fat. He presses his thumbs into tender flesh, and Livia keens in his lap, rolling up into his touch, grinding against his thigh.

With one hand, Livia grips Gaius’ forearm, white-knuckled. The other she brings up to press her fingertips between his lips, shoving her blood-tacky fingers halfway down his throat as if she could climb all the way inside of him. He gags on the scrape of her ragged fingernails against his soft palate; feels bile rise up, burning the back of his throat, taste of copper and acid on his tongue.

The nausea leaves him salivating, spit dripping down the back of Livia’s hand, down his chin. He closes his lips around her fingers, humming around them as if he’s taking a cock. Her eyes are so wide, so dark.

She’s soaking through the fabric of Gaius’ trousers—and though he could not guess the ratio, he knows full well it is not blood alone. The little motions of her hips grind her no-doubt swollen clit against the rough fabric; her breath hitches at the dig of his blunt fingers into skin. “Volō—” she begins, her gaze at once unfocused and intent upon his wet lips. “Mē fac cum digitīs,” his daughter orders. “Attrectābis.”

And he—this, Gaius has not done. He has let her bring herself to completion in his lap, he has sucked and bitten her growing tits, still so often sore to the touch, when she begged for it he let her wrap her fingers around his cock, agile and callused from her training, first having learnt hand-to-hand from Ala Mhigan enlistees and keeping up her drills now until the Emperor authorized Gaius’ return to the XIVth. But for all the times he has watched in rapt attention as Livia pressed a claw of her fingers between her pink lips, flushed and moaning for him around them, _tata, tata, domine mī, es mī, mī_—

For all that, he has never pressed his own fingers inside that wet cunt. “Attrectābō,” he affirms, garbled around her fingers, then gags again for how his nod forces her fingers past his uvula. Half her hand is inside of him.

“Vērāsne?” Livia is stock-still, her breath like it’s been punched out of her. “Vulnerābisne?” Her fingers fall from his mouth, spit and yellow bile strung between them.

“Cum digitīs meī,” he says, and his voice holds all the conviction his heart lacks. Gaius is not _soft_, he has never been soft, but he struggles to tell his girl _no_, not when she is so clear in her wants, so pretty throwing herself at him.

“_Tata_,” she whines, ever so disappointed. Grinding her clit once more into Gaius’ thigh, she brings her spit-shiny fingers up to her tit—digs her nails into her nipple hard enough to draw blood, and her hips jerk against him as she whines.

He shakes his head at her, a laugh upon his breath. “Puella impudentissima…” He slips his hand into the leg of her shorts, tacky and thick with blood that cannot begin to dry. In short order his probing fingers find their mark.

Livia cries out for him as he gives her cunt two dry fingers to the root—too much too fast, but she’s good for it, slick enough to take him, and she gets off on the pain besides. He curls his fingers inside his daughter’s wet cunt, so pretty, he’s sure—if only he could see it gape around his fingers, so much darker than her own skin. Tells her as much.

Her reply does not come at first, and when it does, it is breathless. Her soft little tits heave, sweat in the hollows of her clavicle, and how ragged the movement of her hips as she rides his thigh… she must be close. “Vidēbis tum iterum intrābis.”

So sure of herself, but the girl’s hardly wrong. This—split open on his fingers, impatient enough she’s all but fucking herself on them—at but a single imperative, for Gaius cannot deny Livia what she begs for when he wants so desperately himself. His cock aches, untouched but for the incidental press of her knee through the fabric. She is too young, she is his ward, she is—willing, and wet, and begging for him. “Ita vērō,” he says low, because agreement through repetition, he thinks, would finish her before he is ready for her to be done.

He catches Livia’s hair in his free hand; tugs only hard enough to suggest she meet his gaze, but when she does her eyes are glittering amusement, and she wrenches her head forward, pretending the brutality she so wants from him. He takes a firmer grip on her hair and kisses his way down her exposed throat. “Tata—”

He catches a nipple between his teeth; suckles the crescent wounds from her fingernails as if to milk blood from her tit. Her cunt spasms around his fingers, and she shrieks when he bites down, rides her orgasm out shaking in his lap.

There is clot-heavy blood in his cupped palm, and slick, and Gaius cannot decide if he prefers to lick it clean himself or let Livia smear her mess over her nose and chin. His girl catches his wrist with both hands, grasp hard enough to turn her nailbeds white, and chooses for him.


End file.
